Milliardo was in the study when Duo reached the house, his blond head bent as he spoke to the third occupant of the property in soft tones.

Many people had wondered why Prince Milliardo had refused to live in the Palace after the wars were over, and had instead bought and refurbished this modest estate in the foothills to the west of the capital with private funds, the house and outbuildings lost in the lush green forest that covered so much of Sanc. He had insisted that he needed the peace, the privacy, and that since he never intended to take the Throne, there was no need for him to live like the Royal he was, nor draw on the public purse for his upkeep.

There was truth to his insistence – Milliardo did, historically, do better being away from large urban areas, free to disappear into the wilderness and walk off whatever was troubling him at that particular moment – but there had been more to it. For one thing, he had wanted somewhere where Duo could come and stay and move around with freedom, protected from telephoto lenses and gossip columnists, unwilling to be parted from his surrogate younger brother now that there was no need.

And for another, he had needed somewhere for the third of their triptych to rest once the most life-threatening of his injuries had stabilised; needed somewhere where the slow flow of days, the soft sounds of the forests and springs would be a constant balm to a battered body and broken soul.

Treize Khushrenada had not come from the end of the War without paying a heavy price for his dreams. Milliardo had bought the house, in the end, to create a refuge for what was left of him, in the hopes that he would one day recover enough to rejoin the world he had bought with his blood.

There had been some success, Duo knew. His eldest brother was a little better each day, a little stronger, a little less in pain and a little less utterly exhausted, though knowledge of where he had started was needed for the improvement to show.

In the first few weeks, he had never left his bed, sleeping the twenty hours a day he wasn't screaming in agony. In the weeks and months after that, he had been a silent ghost haunting his rooms on the first floor, speaking to no-one at all, not even Milliardo, and moving through the motions of his days with only grim determination.

Then, as the first warmth of summer touched the land around him, something had returned to his distant, vacant gaze, some vital spark reigniting deep inside him. He had begun making eye contact again, fleetingly and then with more certainty, first with Milliardo, then with Duo, then with Dorothy on her frequent visits, and then, finally, as the beautiful summer passed into a glorious flaming fall, he had begun speaking again.

For Milliardo's 21st Birthday in late November, he had even managed to conspire with his brother and cousin to be sitting downstairs when the blond man came home from his duty visit to his sister, positioned elegantly in a supportive wing chair in the little snug. His soft, struggling 'Happy birthday, Miri,' had dropped the Prince to his knees in front of the other man, his face against the older man's lap as he wept in relief and long-repressed grief. Duo had stayed long enough to see his brother bend his head to the blond, his hand winding into Milliardo's silver-gilt mane in the first touch he had initiated in a year and his voice breaking as he soothed, fighting to speak freely and in more than the one and two word phrases that had been all he had managed till then.

They'd thought he'd turned the corner then, had made the choice to live; certainly he'd seemed to improve in leaps and bounds as the house began preparing for a winter season as grand as any they'd known in childhood. As Milliardo and Dorothy brought in green boughs and twinkling lights for their Christmas, Treize had the family Menorah shipped from his abandoned home in Tel Aviv and began lighting it for each night of Hannukah in his role as Head of Household. Duo, as he so often had in his younger years, bounced back and forward between the two older men and their traditions, singing the solemn Hebrew prayers for his brother that Treize's baritone couldn't sustain anymore and then, later the same evening, throwing his light tenor behind Dorothy's soprano and Zechs's bass as they wended their way through various Christmas carols.

By the time that Duo left to prepare the pilot's Gundams for their trip into the Sun, Treize had even managed to smile at a few things.

Zechs, after, had told him of what had happened next, of the effect that Dekim Barton's aborted Coup had had on the former general. White faced, eyes glassy with shock, Treize had sent Milliardo in the Tallgeese 3 he and Duo had built from the components of the wrecked Tallgeese 2 and Epyon suits to defend his sister, then sent Dorothy after him when the newsfeeds started to show him that the blond was losing his fight. Duo, by then, had been aboard Dekim's colony, knowing without needing to be told that Treize would want him with the little girl who, astonishingly, might just be another member of their little family. He'd failed in that, but it hadn't mattered in the end, Une accomplishing it for him.

What had mattered was that, for a few hours, Treize had been completely alone, watching footage that increasingly told him that he might have sent all three of the people who cared for him to their deaths and then cut to radio silence, leaving him without an answer either way.

It hadn't done him any favours. According to Dorothy, who had been first back to the forest house, she'd found Treize with his cleaned and loaded service pistol in his hand. His intention had been clear.

Worse had been the fallout. His presence thoroughly announced now, Zechs had been hauled in for questioning about his part in the Wars and had ended facing an ESUN tribunal for his actions. Lady Une's impassioned defence of him, Relena's political clout backing him, and his actions in the Mariemeia uprising had seen him walk clear but, in order to defend himself against accusations of attempted genocide during his time as the White Fang commander, he'd been forced to talk about Treize, revealing both that the former general was still alive and that he, with Milliardo and various other family members, had planned, seeded and staged a good part of the events of the war to control it and shape the future it built.

Milliardo's fatal slip had been 'various family members'. Heading the investigatory committee, Noin had been inclined to lenience towards Milliardo and Treize both, but she'd also known the Oz commander fairly well, and had immediately asked what 'family' the blond meant. There was only Dorothy Catalonia who merited the title.

Wasn't there?

Tipped off, knowing something of what she was looking for, Noin had quietly commandeered Heero's hacking prowess and used her lingering access to the surviving Oz servers to go hunting. It had still taken them almost four months to punch through the firewalls, blinds and encryptions Treize had programmed 7 years earlier, and throw open the files he had buried on his somewhat-younger half-brother, a boy who had apparently been killed with his parents in AC 192.

A boy with wide violet eyes, thick chestnut hair past his shoulders and the maternal family name 'Maxwell'.

Duo had been arrested immediately, bailed the same afternoon and in front of the court 48 hours later.

Guilty of nothing he hadn't been acquitted of as a pilot already, and nothing on the order that Milliardo had been accused of in any case, Duo had never been in any doubt that he was walking free from the court at the end of the day, but the jury rendering the verdict hadn't been the one he was worried about.

Heero, of course, had already known, but Trowa, Quatre and Wufei had walked into the courtroom completely blind to what Duo was going to say, knowing only that something new had come to light about his part in the war.

The reaction of two of them in the men's room had been what he had expected; Trowa simply looking at him in silence and walking away had not.

Now, an hour later, a grim-faced Duo let himself into the house that had become home and tossed his car-keys on the side table by the door, looking for his housemates immediately.

A moment later, Treize's soft, hesitant tones made him look at his watch as a spark flared in the study.

"Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam," the former general sang quietly. "Asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat kobesh."

Yes, it was a Friday, Duo reminded himself and his glance at his watch told him it was around 20 to 7. It was dark in Sanc at around 7 at this time of year.

He waited a few minutes for his brother to finish his Shabbat greeting, then stepped into the study to let him, and Milliardo, know he was home.

Both men smiled as he walked in, Milliardo getting to his feet and Treize looking up from the prayer book on his lap.

"Evening, Mil," Duo greeted Milliardo, exchanging soft kisses to both cheeks in the blonde's french-extraction tradition. "Gut shabbes," he said to Treize in turn.

Treize tipped his head to him. "Shalom Shalom," he replied steadily.

Duo smiled at him again then let himself sober. "I hate to interrupt," he said, "but we have incoming company."

Treize let his curiosity show with a raised eyebrow but didn't say anything. Milliardo scowled at him.

"Now?" he asked. "It's seven in the evening and we were about to sit down to dinner. Can't they wait till morning?"

Duo frowned, puzzled. "You offered," he countered, "or I wouldn't have invited them at all. But hey, I'm sure they won't jump to any of the wrong conclusions if I call them off at the last minute." He gave it a moment, then shook his head. "My day was fine, by the way, thank you for asking," he added sharply, "and no, of course my friends aren't livid with me." He drew a breath. "Oh, wait…."

Treize gave him a sympathetic look and extended his hand. "Duo," he started and Milliardo spoke over him.

"You're here," the blond pointed out, "and they're coming. How bad can it have been?"

"Seriously?" Duo demanded at the same time Treize murmured, "Miri!"

"You're an arse this evening, Mil," the younger man continued a beat later. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing suddenly. "What gives?"

"Nothing," the blond snapped back. "Would a phone call have killed you?" he asked shortly. "I know I said to invite them but I would have liked to know you had, so I could at least feed them!"

Duo shrugged. "So, I'll bell Heero and get him to stop for Pizza. Crisis averted," he quipped dryly.

Milliardo looked like he'd swallowed a wasp and either that or some thought unique to his own head made Treize chuckle softly. "Thai," he insisted firmly, as he often did when the topic of ordering out was raised. For a man who'd been raised in Tel Aviv on a strict Kosher diet, he had a wicked love of spicy and exotic food, seeking to challenge his palate whenever possible in his younger years.

It was so rare a thing now, a positive trait of the commander's that still held true, that Duo and Milliardo nigh-on always yielded to whatever Treize was suggesting. Duo actually couldn't remember the last time he'd had Pizza.

"Sure," Duo agreed, smiling and nodding. "Why the hell not? Mil, any preferences? There'll be a few of us, so they can pick up from more than one place. Heero and Trowa won't eat Thai in any case," he added as he headed for the door.

He was looking to soothe; however fond Treize was of spicy food, Zechs hated it. He was surprised, though, when the blond tossed an apologetic look at Treize and followed Duo from the room. "I'll come and look at the menus," he explained. "Back in a minute," he said to Treize.

That, Duo thought, seriously went without saying. Now, as before, as it had ever been in Duo's memory, if his two brothers were in the same building, awake and not otherwise forcibly prevented, they were in the same room, whether fencing, studying, arguing, talking or merely sitting in shared silence as they read.

He shook his head at the thought, unwinding his cravat from round his throat as he moved, glad to be free of the stuffy outfit. However much he'd grown up with formal dress, five years of a more relaxed wardrobe had taught him a few things about personal comfort that a Romefeller childhood never had.

He stuffed the cravat into his trouser pocket in a habit that made Treize freak like crazy and reached into the drawer of the hallway table to dig through the various takeaway flyers.

"Oh, order what the hell ever," Milliardo said behind him. "I don't care."

Duo shrugged. "Yeah, but you should. You're eating it, Mil."

Milliardo shook his head. "The Thai's fine, Duo. Listen," he started, his tone urgent, "can you really not delay this thing with the other pilots? He's not up to it," he explained, not needing to explain who 'he' was.

Duo gave him look straight from his genes, steady gaze and a single raised eyebrow. "Are any of us?" he asked easily. "I know he's not inquisition-fit, Mil. I'll warn them off him as much as I can but the only four people in the Sphere that you and I are bothered by are currently hopping mad at me for lying to them for the last two years, and he's a good chunk of my reasons they shouldn't gut me for my trouble. He's involved in the explanations, Mil, and if I wait till he's up to it, I could be waiting a very long time. He'll cope tonight as well as tomorrow, so it might as well get done."

Milliardo scowled at him, blue eyes stormy. "Yes," he agreed, "except, not. He's not had a great day. He's been worrying himself sick over you and he's tired now. I really would rather just feed him and get him in bed."

Duo snorted. "Yeah, but he doesn't have 'great days', Mil," he pointed out bluntly. "He has bad ones and bloody awful ones. If he's fannying with religious twaddle and asking for Thai, he's doing okay by his standards. You're cosseting again," he pointed out, referencing Milliardo's ever present tendency to treat their older brother as though fragile. "Stop being so toppish; you're not even screwing him any more."

"Fuck off, Duo," Milliardo replied shortly, his voice hot. "Don't be so bloody crude!"

Duo shrugged unrepentantly. "It's true. And I won't treat him as though he can't chose for himself. If he couldn't cope, he'd have said so."

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, their opinions conflicting, true blood brother who'd been absent for years against ex-lover and cousin who hadn't.

Then Milliardo shook his head wearily. "I'm not trying to be an arse, Duo," he said quietly. "I know today's been tough for you, too, and I want to help. It's just... I'm worried he's caught something. He's running hot, and he's thrown up twice today."

Duo gave him wide, understanding eyes. "He's puking? When?" he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice.

"Once this morning, once just after lunch. He's been fine since, and he's eaten, but..." Milliardo flushed suddenly, his nordic colouring hiding nothing. "We had a slight, ah, technical hitch with some stuff this morning as well," he managed, obviously reluctant.

The younger man, still giving him worried eyes, suddenly laughed dryly. "Ah, that's why you're grumpy!" he laughed. "You've spent all day mopping up different puddles!"

The colour in Milliardo's face went from embarrassed to angry in a heartbeat. "Fuck off, Duo!" he snapped. "I should tan your backside, I swear!" he threatened.

"Well, as much as you'd get off on that," Duo needled, clearly not remotely intimidated, "I'm not Treize. Seriously, though," he added, losing his cheeky grin in favour of a familiar steadiness, "rough morning or not, he seems chipper enough now."

"He's high," Zechs said flatly. "He's been downstairs all day – he wouldn't rest until we heard from you. He's got enough drugs in him right now that I could stab him with something and he wouldn't feel it."

Duo flashed him another wicked grin. "Well, there goes that fun," he teased.

Milliardo shook his head, temper flaring again. "Pack it in," he warned. "You're not funny with that on a good day, Duo, and today's not that."

Duo looked at him, violet eyes sparking, for a moment more, then dropped the facade. "Sorry," he murmured, looking suddenly weary to his bones. "Family trait," he said, and Milliardo huffed before nodding, acknowledging that the cutting humour he'd been deploying as a distraction was a tendency he shared with his older brother, and one which the blond himself lacked entirely.

"I know," Milliardo agreed. "I do know. I just... not that. Please," he added, and it was that which made Duo double-take at him, looking more closely.

"That bad a day, Mil?" he asked gently, dropping Maxwell-the-brat for someone far closer to the boy Milliardo had grown up with, the surrogate younger brother, not quite three years his junior, who'd been playmate and friend in ways even Treize, older and never quite a sibling, hadn't been.

The blond shrugged gracelessly. "That bad a topic," he answered honestly. "We've been... disagreeing. Ask me some other time," he added, when Duo looked like he was going to press. "I'll talk, particularly if you offer me whisky first. But we don't have time right now."

"It's a date," Duo said lightly. He shook himself a few moments later, and reached for the flyers again, shoving a handful into Zechs's hand. "Here. I'm starving."

Zechs blinked at him, closing his fingers automatically, the hesitated. "Duo," he started, and the younger man shook his head.

"No," he said. "Sorry, Mil, but he could be chucking now and I'd be handing him a bucket and telling him to suck it up. He's my brother, I love him, I'd do anything for him – but it's his turn. I need this from him now."

"His turn?" Zechs spluttered. "Duo...!"

"What?" Duo snapped, and suddenly there was no doubt of his bloodline. "You'd do well to remember which one of us he sent away, Milliardo," he said softly, and the weight of everything he wasn't saying was suddenly heavy in the air between them, never spoken of, the certain, bitter knowledge of choices Treize had made – had had to make – which had divided Duo from his brothers for years, if not forever.

Duo didn't know which of them would have spoken next, but there was movement at the door to the study, and that stopped either of them from saying anything.

"Miri," Treize said softly. "Enough. He's right."

Zechs tensed, but his attitude to his former commander had never been one of automatic obedience, never mind intimidation. "Maybe," he said, turning on one heel sharply. "Maybe not – but, today?" he asked.

Treize tilted his head. "Today, tomorrow. His choice." He smiled suddenly, holding his hand out to his brother. "I owe him that."

Duo slid past Zechs, taking Treize's hand and going to his knees to look at the man on the same level. "Todaa," he said quietly, offering the simple phrase in Hebrew first, "thank you."

Treize nodded, still smiling. "My Thai?" he asked curiously, and it was enough to make even Zechs laugh softly.

"It's coming, it's coming," Duo reassured, pushing back to his feet with a gentle squeeze to once-broken fingers. "I'm just waiting for that lump to decide what he wants."

Treize turned his gaze on the blond, not quite literally batting his eyelashes whilst certainly giving off that impression. "Hurry up, then," he pushed winningly, and Duo laughed again as Zechs rolled his eyes, collecting his phone to call Quatre with their orders.